


At Dawn, He Will Die

by Villain_Complex (Random_Fandom_writer)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mental Instability, Poor Merlin (Merlin), Short One Shot, Tags Are Hard, Timeline What Timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:48:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25737538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_Fandom_writer/pseuds/Villain_Complex
Summary: A flame jumps to life upon his hand, glowing steadily and lighting up the darkened cell. He sighs in relief at the comfortable heat, banishing the lingering unease at such a blatant use of magic. It's not like it matters much anymore.Because at dawn tomorrow, Merlin will die.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 34





	At Dawn, He Will Die

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline is a bit wacky. Set after season 3 but before the events of season 4. Uther is still functional and running the kingdom, and Agravaine is nowhere to be found because I hate him. The knights of the roundtable all exist, but I don't talk about them in this fic.

_Drip, drip, drip._

Water drops steadily from the ceiling, forming a small puddle of water on the floor. 

It's driving Merlin mad.

It it also making him realize just how thirsty he is, the burn in his throat ever present, and refusing to be soothed with saliva. Merlin briefly wonders if it's drinkable, but one look at the stagnant, sickish brown water staves off the desire.

He wasn't that thirsty anyways.

The patter of feet bustling about the square carries through the high walls. Low light shines from the window above, though Merlin swears it's no later than midday. It's going to rain soon. Wouldn't that be fortunate? 

He shivers in cold. Maybe not.

_"Forbearnan."_

A flame jumps to life upon his hand, glowing steadily and lighting up the darkened cell. He sighs in relief at the comfortable heat, banishing the lingering unease at such a blatant use of magic. It's not like it matters much anymore.

Because at dawn tomorrow, Merlin will die.

* * *

Midday fades to evening. The fire blazes on.

_"Upastige draca."_

The oranges and reds dance together, forming and morphing into a tiny dragon. It flaps it's wings, huffing and breathing out puffs of smoke. He smiles. It reminds him of Kilgharrah, the old _crone._ Merlin wonders how he's doing. Hopefully terribly. 

_Drip, drip, drip._

Merlin groans, snapping his head from the flame and glaring heatedly at the puddle of water.

_Drip drip, drip._

A shudder climbs up his back, glare turning into a tight grimace as the small splashes grate at his ears. It really is driving him mad. _'Just burn me already,'_ he thinks. _'I'd probably thank you.'_

And he stops, and stares at the tiny flame, knowing that at dawn he will die.

_'No rush.'_

Merlin extinguishes the fire on his hand, feeling sick.

* * *

_"I propose a toast. To the start-"_

_There was a man. Cloaked in black in the back of the great hall._

_"-of a bountiful harvest, and the end-"_

_Merlin didn't see him._

_Merlin didn't see him._

_The dagger._

_The dagger._

_"Arthur-"_

_The man threw the dagger,_

_Merlin threw out his hand,_

_and time went funny._

_'Guards, seize him."_

* * *

Arthur will have to find a new manservant. The thought is almost enough for Merlin to bust the bars open and beg to him that he doesn't hire a bootlicker (God knows the prat will probably get stuck with George of all people). The kingdom can barely hold the weight of his big head as it is. The last thing he needs to be told is _yes sire_ and _of course sire_ and _most ever so certainly sire_. 

Merlin smiles, and then doesn't. He fears it would be a bit strange to smile on his death day. 

Then again, the people do seem to enjoy a good sorcerer incineration. 

So maybe he smiles, and maybe he laughs. 

He laughs.

And he laughs.

And he laughs.

Merlin recalls the look upon Arthurs face, when he shouted his name and threw out his hand, and laughs some more. _'Who's the startled stoat now?'_

And Merlin smiles, and giggles, and shakes his head, until the air in his lungs runs thin, thinking _'is this what dying feels like?'_

But then he remembers the _hothothot_ fury in those angry eyes, and thinks that maybe he already has.

* * *

The sky is dark. 

The room is dark.

The room is very dark. And very cold

_"Forbearnan."_

He stares.

He stares.

He stares at the flame with unfocused eyes. And maybe it is Merlin's newfound madness, but he reaches out.

To touch it.

Just to see what it will be like.

No harm in being prepared.

He grinds his teeth at the starting heat, and watches pale skin turn pink.

And it burns.

And burns.

And burns.

And Merlin screams.

Merlin screams as the flesh burns, blisters, and bleeds. 

Merlin screams until his throat runs raw (he'll really be needing that water now), and his hand doesn't hurt anymore. That's strange. He hasn't taken it out of the fire yet. 

He closes his fist around the flame.

And if this is what it feels like, maybe the pyre won't be so bad.

* * *

At dawn, the guards come to take him away.

Merlin lets them.

And as Merlin's limbs are bound to the wooden beam, he feels a droplet of water splash against his cheek.

_Drip, drip, drip._

It's going to rain soon.

**Author's Note:**

> I swear all my ideas come to me in vague premonitions of the future. Never in my life have I ever had a single thought, let alone a whole plot outline. I only had one, half fleshed out scene prepared when I started writing, and then had the audacity to take six days to finish it. I've never had one clue as to what is going on. What day is it? What year? Who am I really?
> 
> Also, I am fully aware "crone" is a word applicable to woman, not doggery old dragons, but it really does suit him perfectly.


End file.
